


Every Kindness That We Do

by triumphmusic1980



Category: Savatage, Trans-Siberian Orchestra
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24282169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triumphmusic1980/pseuds/triumphmusic1980
Summary: An angel is sent from Heaven to Earth to spread the message of peace, love, and compassion to humanity. How will he achieve this?Symphonic rock music and pyrotechnics of course!(This is basically a vent fic at this point, so for actual stories with substance, head to my other posts!)
Kudos: 1





	1. An Angel Came Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel is sent to Earth to spread the message of kindness, forgiveness, and compassion. He has some interesting ideas on how to achieve this.

_Somewhere on the other side of eternity (which is somewhere after today but before tomorrow) …_

Among the stars and clouds stood an angel, staring into the vastness of the universe and its multitudes. He was pondering his most recent task, given to him by the Almighty Himself. He was called by the Lord earlier and was told he was to go down to Earth, take the form of a human, and spread the message of peace, love, kindness, and compassion in whatever way he pleased. He was given some time to prepare, and to ponder his plan. As he stared into eternity, the sound of ruffling feathers alerted him. Another angel with long black hair appeared next to him, his black, starlit wings fading as he landed. He adjusted his dark blue robes as he stepped towards the other angel.

“O’Neill, my friend, I heard you are to be sent down to Earth for some time on a mission! How exciting!” he exclaimed. The first angel smiled.

“Ah, greetings Muziphial! Yes, I am excited. There is so much work to be done, I was just about to leave.” O’Neill replied, gazing to the distance.

“Do you have a plan for how you are going to help the humans? With the kindness and compassion and all?” Muziphial said, head tilting slightly. O’Neill stood silent a moment.

“Rock music.” He finally said, proudly. 

Muziphial blinked. 

“I’m sorry, you wish to use rock music for your mission?”

“And pyrotechnics. Fire. Sparks, lasers, and smoke. Loud guitars, soaring violins, and thundering drums.” O’Neill continued, getting visibly more excited as he spoke.

“Listen, O’Neill, I know you love music and that you have a flare for the dramatic, but how will these things help the humans with understanding compassion?” Muziphial said, quietly. 

O’Neill laughed wholeheartedly. 

“Ah, Muziphial, my friend, let me explain this to you. If there is one thing that almost all humans have an interest in, it is uniqueness. Things that differ from their norm. They will see a message written in graffiti on the subway walls, but will it stick in their mind? Maybe. But such messages can often get covered up by other graffiti, making the original message unreadable. But if you want to really catch their attention, you must be bold. Daring. I have a plan for something new, not really done before in their history. I see a band, a large band, a family. Their music is rock based but mixed with classical. Something different, something creative. A unity between two seemingly contrasting musical genres, melded into one bombastic performance. They use fire and lasers to catch the eye, and to draw interest. But the music, oh the music, it holds stories. The messages! History and philosophy, morals, and meanings. Each album they create will have a story, each based around the message of compassion, forgiveness, and love. The stories will mix with the music, the songs, and with the flash of the production, the music takes hold of the soul. I see worlds created, imagination! Oh, how wonderful it will be!” O’Neill breathed, eyes shining bright. Muziphial smiled as well.

“Ah, but O’Neill, how will you be sure they will understand? That they will take heed of the story?”

“I know because it is in the human nature to be kind. To be compassionate. It is in their roots, their very being. Sometimes they forget, they become lost, or they try to ignore it. But, with the right key, even just one line of inspiration, it could change one’s entire life. The music and stories will hold that key, just a push to enlightenment, and with the flare of proper showmanship, as well as some beautifully written musical lines, the messages will be heard, remembered, and eventually practiced.

Imagine if you will, a man who lives in the city. He sees the homeless every day, but was never taught to give, if he could. He sees them as part of the scenery of the city, and he walks by them, not sparing a glance. Imagine that this man then goes to one of this band’s shows out of curiosity. He hears the story of a man of the city, like himself, who then sees a person in need. This man in the story, with a small push, realizes what he can do and goes to help the person, expecting no reward back. He helps because it is right. The man of the city then leaves the concert, the melodies still ringing in his mind. On his way home, he sees a homeless man on the street, cold in the snow. This man them remembers a lyric from the song stuck in his head from the show. _“To know who needs help, you need only just ask”._ He remembers the man from the story, and how a small act of kindness goes a long way, and he goes up to the homeless man and gives him some cash and buys him a warm drink. The man now understands the importance of kindness. It becomes a part of him. Now, imagine this homeless man. He is now the victim of a small, kind act. He remembers this. Perhaps a day or so later, he sees a woman walking down the street, and her wallet falls from her pocket. He remembers the kind act the man did for him, so he goes over and returns the wallet to her, passing on the kind act. This kindness chain-reaction could go on forever. People inspiring people to just be kind, even if it is small ways, it is kindness nonetheless, and could change one’s whole life, or turn a cold soul to warmth. People will do it, but sometimes they just need a reminder, a push, or a key. I wish to use music to create that inspiration. One moment is all they need, one simple moment, and a life can be changed. I have always believed it is never too late to change a life’s ending, and with this music, I hope to inspire others to feel the same.” O’Neill finished. 

Muziphial stared off into the starry distance as O’Neill was. He smiled warmly.

“You really have this whom compassion thing figured out, huh?” he laughed, patting O’Neill on the back. O’Neill smiled warmly, removing his starlit aviators from his eyes (He always had a love for human aesthetics, their history, and style). 

“I suppose I do, but it is the root of existence, is it not? ‘Do unto others as you would have others do unto you’. Such a simple phrase, yet so impactful. So meaningful.” He said, recalling the Lord’s Son’s teachings. “I believe I am ready to depart. There is much to do.”

“How long do you have to accomplish this?” Muziphial replied. O’Neill put the sunglasses back over his eyes, the stars of the multitudes reflecting off them. 

“I have until it is certain the message is heard.” He said, stepping closer to the edge of the cloudy loft he had been standing on. “I will not know exactly when that is, but He will. I will return when it is time,” he paused. “I look forward to the experiences to come, being human. As to not arouse suspicion, it will be made that I will have always existed on Earth, as a human, to them at least.” He smiled. A fake history will be made of his persona. But a real one as well. It never existed, and yet, it does. It always has. “I hope I am able to do this right,” he continued. “If I can even change just one life, then it will all be worth it. I must take my leave now.” He finished. 

“Well, farewell then, my friend! Good luck with the mission! I look forward to hearing your songs!” Muziphial said, stepping back, waving. 

O’Neill gave a returning smile and wave, and then faced the sky. Wings of fire appeared behind him, shining bright but burning nothing. He spread them out, then flew off the edge, into the starry heavens before him. He flew forward, aiming for a certain bright light in the distance.

Earth.

It was quiet as he flew, but even so, he still heard music. Music of the future, music of what was to come. He heard the band he dreamed of, and their sounds echoing through the night. He also heard thousands upon thousands of voices, singing along to the music he had created. He saw the stars around him, lights shining bright as he passed. How familiar it was. As he neared the Earth, he thought of a line he must use in the albums to be.

_It’s every gift that someone gives, expecting nothing back. It’s every kindness that we do, each simple, little, act…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever have an idea, go through with it, and then have the thought "wow what the heckity heck have I made?"
> 
> Yeah that is this fic lol. Emotions just got the better of me, and this is the result.
> 
> As with the last TSO fic, I mean no disrespect in any way to any person used in the fic, especially Paul, who is my hero. This is just a way to vent emotions and pay tribute to this amazing band!
> 
> As for the story, the basis is that I had the thought Paul is way too nice and pure to be human lol, like he once hand wrote letters to every member of TSO, and then put $200 in each letter and told them to "go help someone in need" and that just gets me emotional, man. Like this man had to be an angel sent from Heaven to help us out lol. (This is all tasteful joke lol again, no disrespect)
> 
> AS FOR THE STORY I couldn't think of an "angel name" to give him that didn't sound stupid, so I just went with his last name. It could work. As for his friend, that is an OC I just made, though he does bear a striking resemblance to the TSO character of Morpheus from Night Castle, so headcannon that into the story as you will.
> 
> I don't know how long this will be, but not too long, I'm sure.
> 
> Also, one more time: I mean no disrespect to ANYONE with this. TSO is my favorite band of all time and Paul is my actual hero, so this is just my weird version of a tribute to them I guess. This story has one plot hole lol and its the fact that Paul is, yah know, human, and has always existed and has family and stuff, so in the story, just roll with it, idk. I'm a musician, not a writer lol, forgive me. I tried to explain an answer to this, but I don't even know myself so just rrrroll with it it's not relevant to the story so,,,eh.
> 
> ANYWAY this is just a for-funsies story that hit me in the dead of the night, so please enjoy the wild ride that I call my imagination.
> 
> Peace~


	2. Strange Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul searches for the right band to make his vision reality, and comes across a rising metal band in good ol' Florida,

_Circa 1987_

O’Neill had been on earth for a while now. He had taken the name Paul O’Neill and had begun his work in the music business, taking a job as a musical producer. He knew he must be patient, as his vison would take time to complete. He must have the right players, the right musicians, and the right connections. He had already begun to build these connections, and he knew it was time to find the right musicians for his cause. He had worked with many bands before, as in his job as a producer, he had worked with Madonna, Sting, Joan Jett, and Aerosmith. But, none of these bands or artists were able to produce the specific sound he was looking for. 

But fate was in his favor, he would later note. He worked for the Atlantic music company, and he had asked the other producers there to notify him of any “unique” sounding rock bands, or any that would stand out to them. Any bands that showed the potential for something great if he hadn’t heard them already first. His query was answered, as he was notified of a metal band who was gaining a strong following. He booked a flight to Florida, where he tracked down this band, who called themselves _Savatage._

~

It was well past sundown as Paul made his way down the city streets. He had the address of the venue where this band was to perform, and was quietly making his way there, taking in the sights as he went. The night was clear, and brilliant stars shown above. Finally, he arrived and made his way inside. He stood toward the wings of the venue, out of the crowd. The band had already begun to play when he entered, and they were rocking out without hesitation. He took in the scene before him.

The stage lights were constantly changing, never resting on one color or setup. It was mesmerizing to watch. They also had a smoke machine set up, seemingly to the highest setting, as it was quickly filling up the entire stage. Even if the musicians weren’t performing, the stage seemed to come alive. 

The musicians on stage were restless, constantly moving around the platform. He noted the drummer, who he was told was named Steve Wacholz. He had long brown hair and some facial hair as well. His drum kit was not a large one, but he didn’t seem to let that stop him. He played with all he had, and Paul could see the sweat forming on his brow from where he stood. He had energy. A lot of energy. That was promising. 

Paul looked towards the bassist now, whom he was told as Johnny Lee Middleton. He had long hair as well, blonde, and ragged. He was the only one not moving constantly around the stage, though he seemed to rock out in place more than anything else. He stood somewhat stationary on the left, seemingly focusing on the music he was playing above all else. He could hear the bass riffs pounding out. Skill, he thought. True musical skill. An ear for music, even in such a loud and exhausting scenario such as this. 

The singer was who caught his eye next. He sported long black hair, and a long black coat. The man had a vocal style he had never heard before, as it had the metal-scratch to it, but he also sang with more heart than anything else. Jon Oliva was the man’s name. He seemed to love his high notes, as almost every other line he would let out a metal wail, reaching into an unbelievably high register. But besides his range, there was something else that stood out to Paul. It was the way he moved, the way he sang, and the way he interacted with the crowd. He was expressive. He would seemingly take character as he sang certain songs, shaping reality around him with his movements, with his expressions. He was a performer through and through, and Paul could see the vision in the man’s eyes. The man knew what he wanted to convey with each song, and by God, did he do it. He wasn’t just singing as any musician would, but instead, he told a story. Paul watched in amusement at the showmanship of the singer.

_“Nine men made it to a shore_

_A night of terror_

_Lies neatly in store_

_Who are those women?_

_Are they real?_

_Is this just a crazy dream?_

_You're approaching the island of the_

_Sirens!”_

As he sang, Paul took note of the final member of the band. The guitarist. He was young, wild, and had more passion in his playing than Paul had ever seen before in any guitarist. He played wild riffs with ease, and was constantly moving, spinning, jumping, or running. The stage was small, yet this man made it seem like it was miles long. Criss Oliva was his name, Jon’s brother. He had the same color hair as Jon, but his was a tad wilder, with more curl. He sported a red jacket and animal fur patterned pants, quite contrasting to the dark look of the singer. He never once let up on playing, and every note he played had passion. Emotion. He wasn’t just playing for the heck of it, he was playing because he loved it. Paul smiled. He knew he found his musicians. 

Before he knew it, the song was over, and the lights had dimmed. The musicians vanished in the smoke surrounding the stage, but a moment later, the guitarist stepped out, playing a powerful, but gentle melody. Quite contrary with the previous song. Jon the stepped out, mic in his hand.

_“Can you hear me call your name_

_I'm not far away_

_I think of you_

_Somehow you drifted far away from me_

_I can't explain”_

The song was slower, yes, but the passion was just as high as before.

_‘How bold,’_ Paul thought. Not many aspiring metal bands would dare perform anything less than a window-shattering song if they were trying to gain credit as a credible metal band. Paul stared at the stage and took note of the singer. 

_“In the dream,_

_You’re all I see_

_In the dream,_

_Is where I’ll be…”_

The singer’s eyes were alight when he sang the chorus. He stared not at the crowd, but to something beyond. Something only he saw. Paul heard emotion in his voice as he sang. He heard it in Criss’ guitar playing, the drumming, the bass, everything. This band had something. Paul couldn’t say exactly what, but he knew that these were the people he had been searching for. The sound he heard in his head; he could hear it in this band. He stood there the entire rest of the night, watching them perform with all they had. Sometime later in the show, the band did a song and the entire crowd began singing along. Paul got a flashback of the moment when he had been nearing Earth a while ago, where he had heard the voices signing along to music unheard. Paul smiled once more. He couldn’t place it, but something told him that this band and these people where who he was looking for, that this is the sound he was looking for. He listened to the rest of the show and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aight so I am continuing this madness lol.
> 
> I couldn't find info on how Paul actually met Savatage, aside from he was sent from Atlantic to hear them. So this is all fictional interpretation. I also made up the setlist, so this wasn't an actual concert.
> 
> BUT I did look up old Sav videos, and they do have the crazy lights and smoke around this era, and Lord Almighty does Criss give it all he has when he plays. 
> 
> I am not the best at characterization, so bear with me if it's not accurate. This is, again, just for fun.
> 
> Thanks for reading! More to come~


	3. In The Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Oliva and Savatage get an enticing offer from a new musical producer.

The concert had ended, and the crowd was beginning to disperse the venue. Jon Oliva was on stage, picking up some cable, watching as the last few patrons were ushered out. 

“That went great!” a voice rang out from backstage. Criss Oliva waltzed on stage, headed for his guitar which was on the stand. “I think they loved us!” Jon laughed.

“Heh, sure, yeah. We got these live shows in the bag, and we’d be doing more if that damn album didn’t screw us over…” he said, grumbling the last few words. 

Their last album, _Fight for the Rock_ , was not exactly what one would call successful. The original idea was to write some songs for another band to perform, but the record company changed their minds last minute, making Savatage perform the songs themselves. The company wanted them to be more “commercial”, so the songs were not their best, they weren’t really that metal, and they just weren’t Savatage. It left a bad taste in the band’s mouth, but at least they still had the live shows where they could do their music their way. Jon was busy finishing wrapping a cable chord up when Johnny came over to him.

“Hey, dude, some guy over there didn’t leave.” He said, whispering, and motioning to the corner of the venue. There to the side was a small single table, where a man was standing. The man had the “Rockstar Jesus” hair style, with long wavy brown hair that seemed even longer than Jon’s, and he sported a black leather coat and some aviators, which confused Jon, as the hall lights were dimmed and it was quite dark in the venue off the stage. Jon sighed. He was tired from the show and didn’t want to deal with any trouble, but no venue staff as nearby at the moment, so he set down the cable and hopped off the stage and walked towards the man.

“Hey, man, the venue is closed now, yah hear? Show’s over.” He said, approaching the man. The man set down the drink he was holding on the table, and turned towards Jon. 

“Ah, my apologies if I caused you unease, I had permission to stay after from the manager.” He replied. 

“What? Why? Can we help you with somethin’?” Jon said, unaware of the man’s intentions. The man smiled and removed his aviators and set them on the table.

“Oh, yes, I believe you can. My name is Paul O’Neill, I am a musical producer from Atlantic. We got wind of your rise in popularity and growing fanbase, so I was sent to check you out.” He said, leaning one arm on the table. Jon was speechless for a moment. It had been a while since anyone came and showed an interest in them professionally, especially after the problems with the last album.

“Oh, well, uh, did you like what you heard?” Jon replied, suddenly more aware of his words. He had quite a bit to drink during the show, so he was trying his best to be professional. This encounter could be big for them,

“Oh, yes! I have never seen a band quite like yours before. I listened to a few of your songs before I left, and needless to say, I was intrigued!” he said, excitedly. “But seeing you live, oh that was a different experience! You truly brought that music alive! You have a real knack for musicianship, you know.” 

Jon was taken aback. No one had really talked about their musicianship before in such a way. Most of the other record companies just paid attention to the music in itself, how well it would sell, how commercial it is, and most metal musicians they ran in to just commented on how loud they could play. Jon’s thinking was interrupted by Paul continuing.

“Your stage setup was phenomenal as well! The energy was astounding between you four, and by God, the stage effects! So simple, yet so effective! Instead of a common stage, you seemed to create a whole other world within these walls. That is the kind of musicianship I’ve been looking for.” Paul was staring at the stage now, motioning to the light rigs. As he spoke, Criss and the others seemed to become interested in Jon’s conversation, and eased their way over to the two. 

“Ah, the full group! Wonderful! Listen, you all have something special. I see a bright future for you all, but you need proper management for that to occur. I heard there were some…difficulties with the last album?”

“Damn right there were!” Criss spoke up, still pepped up from the show. “They kept telling us what they wanted to hear and wouldn’t let us do things our way! It was a real drag.” The rest of the band nodded in agreement.

“Well, how about I propose a deal. Atlantic likes what they hear from you, as do I. They wanted me to work with you, see what you are capable of. They want a signing.” He said, amused at the excited looks of the band.

“No shit? You’re kidding, no way!” Jon said, running his hands through his hair. They needed a change of management, and bad. This could be good.

“Wait, wait, what about our music we want to make?” Steve cut in. “That last deal made us out to be a commercial stand-in, they told us how to perform and barley let us get a word in. Will this be different?” The rest of the band all looked to Paul, the same question in their eyes.

“My friends, I assure you, if you take this deal, I will personally produce your next album, and full creative control is yours, if you allow me to help guide you, that is.” Paul replied with a wink. “You have a sound that is trying to escape, I can hear it in your music already. You need to embrace it. It is different, but you need different. The world needs different. I see great things in your future, but you need to make that future yours. People may question it at first, but in the end, fortune favors the bold.” He finished, putting his sunglasses back on. 

The band stood silent a moment, thinking it over. Before anyone could make a reply, Paul cut in once more.

"What exactly _is_ Savatage?”

“What do you mean by that?” Johnny replied, confused.

“What is your legacy going to be? What do you want it to be? What do you want to be remembered for? What makes Savatage different from any other wannabe metal band this side of the country?” Paul was unmoving. Jon couldn’t read his face, and the aviators didn’t help. He didn’t know what kind of answer he wanted.

“We want to be inspiring.” Criss cut in. “We want to make music our way and show that commercialism nonsense that we know what music means to us, and to the nobody’s they refuse to listen to. We want to make a difference.” 

Paul gave a small nod but didn’t reply.

“We just want to make music.” Johnny added. “Just put something in the world for people to hold on to.”

Paul seemed like he was about to say something, but Jon cut him off.

“Savatage is whatever the hell we want it to be. It’s us. If we want to do hard metal, then we will do the hardest damn metal the world has ever seen. If we want to do a piano ballad that will put Elton John to shame, we will damn as well do that too.” Jon was a piano player as well but had held off on utilizing it in their music, in fear that no one would want to work with a metal band that uses such a non-metal instrument. “We just want to be us. We just want to make music for music’s sake. But we want it to be us. That’s what we are, and if your high-end company doesn’t want that, then they can take a drumstick, and shove it up their-“

“Woah, woah, woah, my friend, I get the picture. What you said is exactly what I needed to hear.” Paul said quietly. The rest of the band then eyed Jon, worried he had overstepped his place. Paul gave a small laugh. “You boys are quite something. I had a good feeling about you all, and I now know I was right. The company is willing to be as lenient as it can be with your creative freedoms, and I will personally oversee that it is Savatage that gets on the air, and nothing less. Is that a sufficient answer?”

The band all exchanged glances, excitement seeping into their movements. This is what they had been waiting for.

“Mr. O’Neill, sir, we like your terms. We would be honored to work with you.” Jon said, reaching to shake Paul’s hand. Paul shook it enthusiastically. 

“Fantastic!” He exclaimed, smiling wide. “You all have a bright future, and I am honored myself to be a part of it. Here is my contact information,” he said, handing them a card. “Call once you all are ready, and we will be in touch. I believe I heard rumor you wanted to begin working on a new album?” he said, eyebrow raising.

“Oh yes, we have already begun writing down ideas.” Jon replied.

“Then we will need to get to work right away,” Paul said, adjusting his jacket. “I look forward to working with you all. I will let you guys tear down now; it’s quite late. I hope to hear from you soon.” He said, and with a smile and a wave, he headed for the door. Once he had left, the band gathered around the stage.

“You really think he means what he says?” Johnny said, picking up his bass. “About letting us do what we want? Isn’t that what they all say?”

“He seemed different than any other producer we’ve met.” Criss replied, fiddling with an amp. “I think he’s the real deal.” 

Jon picked up the chord roll he had been working on. The conversation of the others were drowned out by his own thoughts. There was something about that man that made Jon knew he could trust him, but he couldn’t place just what. He had ideas for the band. They wanted to be a metal band, yes, but they also wanted to be different. Any band could scream into a mic and play a loud guitar, so he knew they had to do something to distinguish themselves. He had the piano idea, but he still wasn’t sure fans would like it. He would run it by Paul when they began working together. There was another idea he had that he wasn’t quite sure would work, but he always wanted to try it. The term “symphonic metal” had come to him a while back. He had an idea, to make metal and rock music just as big as it always was, but then add the power and magnitude of something like classical music. More soaring guitars, more diversity in the music, more layers, more power. That is what he wanted to make reality. His band could handle it, sure. But would the people like it? He wasn’t sure. But Paul’s words echoed back in his mind. Fortune favors the bold…maybe it was time they tried something new, no regrets. If the people didn’t like it, who cares? They were going to do music their way, and that’s what’s important. Jon would have continued thinking if someone calling his name hadn’t broken his concentration.

“-on, Jon, hey dude, you with me? You’ve been wrapping that same chord for like, 3 minutes.” Criss said, helping Steve carry a drum backstage to the van. Jon gave a laugh. 

“Ah, sorry. Just thinking. Been a long night, obviously.” He said, putting the wrapped chord in the crate. 

“Well think later, dude. Manager wants to shut it down for the night, we gotta pack up.” He said, vanishing through the backdoors, snare drum and stand in hand. Jon smiled and gave a sigh. Criss was right, he could think about the future later. They need to pack up. He began wrapping another chord, the conversation from before revolving in his mind.

_“I had a good feeling about you all, and now I know I was right.”_

~

Paul walked down the street, the midnight sky clear and starry. It was late, and there wasn’t a car on the road nor a soul in sight. The concert from before was still ringing in his ears. This band was who he had been looking for, he knew it. They were going to be something special. Their music came to mind, and as he walked, he began thinking of ideas the band would like that would help them make a great album. 

_“I wonder if they like classical music…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> Ok again I have nO idea how their first interaction went and I couldn't find anything, so, I made this all up. 
> 
> I also don't know exactly how Fight for the Rock was initially made, but most members of the band, even Jon Oliva himself, usually say they hate the album. I believe there is a quote of Jon calling it "Fight for the Nightmre" somewhere. 
> 
> ALSO if you can't tell, I took HUGE inspiration from Bohemian Rhapsody here, so shameless parody I guess. It fits though! 
> 
> I think the story is getting better as it goes. It's still weird though lol.


	4. Prelude to Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul O'Neill discusses the future of Savatage with the band.

_Several weeks later…_

Savatage had begun contacting Paul about the record deal. Finally, they met in person and made it official. They were to begin working on a new album, and Paul was their producer. At this moment, it was the four members of Savatage as well as Paul in a room. They were to discuss the albums format, themes, and other ideas about songs and concepts. 

“Boys, I was incredibly pleased with your sound. You had that metal power, but it wasn’t just from volume. You had heart. I want this next album to build off that.” Paul said, leaning forward in his chair. The other members of the band were sitting across from him. Steve and Johnny had their own chairs, while Criss and Jon shared a couch. 

“Well, how do you reckon we do that without more volume, then?” Steve said in response. 

“Music can be impactful in more ways than one. For example, have you ever heard Elgar’s Enigma Variations?” Paul responded back. The room sat silent, until Jon broke the silence. 

“I have. What about it?”

“Are you familiar with the Nimrod movement?”

“I believe so, yes. It was the slow one.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Criss cut in.

“The Nimrod movement of the Elgar Enigma Variations suite is known as one of the most impactful, heartfelt, and moving pieces of music of all time. To someone not looking into it, the movement could be boring, perhaps. It is slow, quiet, and light. But, if one is to close their eyes and just feel the music, this piece has been known to cause many to shed several tears. How is a piece of music so “boring” able to evoke such emotion?”

“It’s moving?” Johnny replied. “You know, its pretty. Tugs at the heartstrings or, whatever.”

“Yes, that it does, that it does. Anyone else?”

“I…may know…” Jon said hesitantly. Paul gave an understanding nod, urging him to continue. “Well, for me at least, when I hear that old music, I usually create a story in my mind when I listen and well, it then has meaning to me.”

“Ah, interesting, yes, that’s good. Now, what about a piece like Beethoven’s 9th, the Ode to Joy section Why does that piece stand the test of time?”

“Well that one is, uh, well…” Criss started. “It’s bombastic, so it really edges on with that joy motif. It gets drags people into the emotion with how big it is, I guess, and people can hold on to it.”

“Precisely, gentlemen.” Paul replied. “Now, I bring these up because in your current music, thought it may be metal, I hear traces of classical influence, am I wrong?”

“No, we wanted to make our music bigger than normal metal or rock,” Jon said. “That was how we wanted to be different. I like classical, we all do to a degree, so we tried implementing that sound into our music.”

“And it shows, to someone who is really listening, yes. But with proper guidance, I feel like we can make it even more refined. I brought all of this up because you are on your way to creating a perfect hybrid; the style of metal with the power and emotion of classical-“

“Symphonic metal” Jon interrupted. Paul smiled.

“Ah! Yes, you have thought about this before, no?”

“I have, yeah. I was never sure if it would work though. I knew some folks who would call us a whole bunch of insulting names if we even dared show up at one of their venues with a classical-based ballad song or whatever on our setlist.” Jon said, annoyed at the thought. 

“They just don’t understand the implications. Ask them, how many rock songs use actual cannons in their scoring?” The band smiled.

“What do you mean by that?” Steve said, amused.

“1812 Overture, Tchaikovsky, latter half of the piece calls for a loud percussive instrument, and most groups opt for actual cannons. Now, imagine that mixed into rock and roll, or better yet, metal.” Paul said, leaning back into his chair.

The band all exchanged glances. That could be fun…

“Well Paul, we can’t just 180 into a completely new style of music!” Criss said. “Sure, that sounds metal as hell, but we have a following. If we change too fast too soon, they’d drop us like yesterday’s paper.”

“And you won’t. You are already on that path, so we continue gradually. If you permit it, I would like to see some more symphonic influence in this album. It would be different, powerful, and most of all, it would be Savatage, I assure you.”

“What did you have in mind?” Johnny asked.

“The majority of the album will be your original ideas for songs, but we are just going to up the power level in the scoring. More soaring melodies, with the same amount of volume as before. We make melodies people won’t forget, but not just in the vocal line. We make sure every aspect of the song has something interesting going on. And perhaps, we take a few chances?” He said, looking to the band. Jon and Criss exchanged glances. 

“I well, I had the idea for, like, I don’t know, maybe just a small guitar interlude? An instrumental?” Criss said. “I wrote the main idea for it for wife, and it doesn’t fit with any lyrics, really, it’s just a guitar bit.”

“I think it’s a great idea. Band?” Paul said, eying the rest.

“I’m down”

“Same.”

“I had a similar idea, but not as an interlude, but instead, a prelude?” Jon added. Paul raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I just had the idea just now, and we were talking about classical music, and like, one of the more rockin’ classical songs I know is Hall of the Mountain King, and I had an idea for a song based around that line, so I thought maybe before that song, we have an instrumental prelude that uses the actual melody from the song.” The room was quiet for a moment.

“I love the idea. It is a melody that people will recognize, and it wouldn’t be too much at once.” Paul said, clapping his hands together. 

“I had some ideas for some heavier songs as well,” Criss added, “So the album would still be a metal album, no doubt about that.” A chorus of agreements went around. They were finally getting somewhere, and on their terms. 

The rest of the meeting was discussion on other song ideas. Over the course of a few days, they had recurring meetings about the album. Eventually, the basis for the “Hall of the Mountain King” song took form, and the band liked it so much, they made it the single and the name of the album. With its popularity, Paul told them it warranted a music video, their very first. Jon realized at this point that Paul truly had their best interest in mind. He let them do their own thing, and he helped refine it, direct it, and improve it. 

~

A few months later, Jon held the copy of their new album in his hands. It had been a huge success. It made the U.S charts and was selling rapidly. The album was referred to as a turning point in their career, and that was true. They had used this album to experiment with the symphonic style they had imagined, and it came out great, and they already had more ideas to build off that new style. The future was bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back again! 
> 
> This chapter as actually not intentional but I just started writing and it just,,,happened. So, whatever lol. 
> 
> This is all made up I have no idea how their meetings went, but for story's sake, this is what I could imagine them doing.
> 
> I hope I am characterizing these guys well, idk how some of them be really. I DO know that Paul is the dad of the group, and always has been. He is amazing.


	5. Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul ponders the past few years of Savatage.

_1991_

Paul was proud of how far the band had come. They had had huge success with Hall of the Mountain King, as well as their next album Gutter Ballet. That album had even more symphonic influence, as well as some lighter songs that were still Savatage. Jon was really able to apply his piano skills on this one, as was Criss able to reply with his guitar. Silk and Steel will always be one of Paul’s favorites. The album still had a metal kick and was just as powerful as the last, if not more. 

But Paul had an idea he had been working on for years, and he believed it was finally time. The band had known about it before, as Criss found a playwright he had written a while ago and liked the idea. They held off for a bit though, not wanting to change their image so fast, but now they believed it was time. The album was to be a rock opera, complete with narration and all. A true concept album. A story. 

They would call it _Streets: A Rock Opera._ They had worked on nearly 50 songs for the album, but for the record companies’ sake, it was brought way down. They had the songs, a written story in the booklet, and Paul let Jon do the narration as the main character. He recalled laughing as they recorded those bits, as Paul knew what he wanted to hear, and would often have poor Jon re-record something over 20 times until it was how it fit his vision. 

The band trusted him, though, they always have. There were usually choruses of “You sure about this, Paul?” when he had an idea, but he was always confident in his vison, and the band knew this and trusted him. They had fun as well. Paul recalled Jon and Criss waltzing into the studio in laughing hysterics, explaining how they almost got arrested while going about town and recording “city-sounds” for the background of the narration.

With the band, there were some lineup changes that had occurred since Paul first came to work with the band, at least touring wise. The same band lineup was used in recording sessions, though some new faces had become part of the family. A young guitarist named Chris Caffery began working with the band, and during the new albums recording sessions, a close friend of Paul’s named Robert Kinkel began working with them. The Savatage family was expanding, as was their musical style. 

The album was bold, that was for sure. He knew it may not sit well with older fans, but he had faith in its overall success, as did the band. He was right. The year it released, it hit the U.S charts once again. Paul was happy with this, because with this album’s success, he knew future concept albums would be welcomed. He had begun writing ideas down at this time. Ideas of a super-group, a band larger than any band that had come before. A band with a show larger than anything done before. With how well this album did, he knew it was possible. 

Something else that stuck with him was the key song from the album. _Believe._ It was written by Paul, Criss, and Jon all together, and they consider it one of their greatest songs. Something about this song had clicked with them all, though none could place particularly why. It had heart, it was slow but powerful, and it was emotional and relatable. It was a song they would come to refer to time and time again. Paul knew it was something special. 

Paul could have kept going like this forever. The band was gaining massive popularity, the musicians were having fun, and their vision was becoming reality. But, as it comes with being human, change was looming over the band. Jon Oliva was having greater vocal issues, due to the sheet force that he sings with. He had told Paul he didn’t think he could continue singing with Savatage for much longer, else he lose his voice for good. 

Change was part of life, Paul discovered, and sometimes it led to wonderful opportunities, such as searching for a new singer for Savatage. But he also discovered that change, while it may blow like a gentle wind at times, easing one into a new scenario, it can also come towards them as a raging, unyielding fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo!
> 
> Sort of a filler chapter here, not much happens that is tooo relevant to the story right now.
> 
> The almost-arrested bit was true by the way that actually happened!
> 
> I am going to be hitting a heavy topic in the next chapter or so, so I hope I am able to convey it respectfully and carefully.


	6. All That I Bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy strikes Savatage, and the future is uncertain.

_1993_

A roaring thunderstorm was pounding outside the hotel room window. Paul O’Neill sat alone in the darkness, by the window, the lighting illuminating the room entirely every few seconds. It was a rare moment of solitude. Paul had come to love the people he shared this life with. He had found a wife he loved very much; someone he could share this life with. He loved being around the musicians he worked with. They shared his vision and were practically his family as well.

But tonight, he sat alone in the darkness, the storm roaring outside. He sat under the window, a CD in his hand. It was the _Streets_ album. He found himself just staring at the cover, the faces of the band illuminated by the lighting. He looked over on the table next to him, where a stack of other CDs lay. The one closest to him was the last Savatage album, titled _Edge of Thorns._ It was the first Savatage album with their new singer, Zak Stevens. It was a success. It had gotten amazing reviews, praising the bands style, new singer, and guitar work. It had also made the charts in the U.S, in Japan, Germany, and Greece. With the album’s success, the future seemed bright. 

But, not even three months after its release, tragedy struck. Paul stared back at the album in his hands. A flash of lightning shot across the sky and illuminated the room. Paul stared at the face of the Savatage guitarist, Criss Oliva. The young guitarist was one of, if not the best musicians he had ever know. He always had a guitar in his hands. He wrote amazing songs and performed them with more heart than Paul thought possible. His guitar work was heavily praised in the last album. Paul had worked with him since the beginning and Criss was one of his best friends. He had high hopes for the man, and he had looked forward to working with him for years to come.

But that can’t happen now.

Only three months after the album’s release, Criss and his wife had gone out for a drive. While out, a drunk driver had been coming opposite them, crossed the median, and hit their car. 

Criss did not survive. 

It absolutely devastated everyone. No one had expected him to leave them so soon, and Paul couldn’t believe it when he got the call. No one in the band did. Paul sighed, and looked at the album in his hands again when a flash of light hit the room. He saw the face on Jon on the cover.

No one had been hit harder than Jon had. It was his little brother after all. 

Jon didn’t make any appearances for quite some time, and he had informed Paul he couldn’t bring himself to perform with Savatage, at least for a while. 

Though, he had made a special performance tonight. They had held a memorial concert for Criss, back in their home state of Florida. Jon appeared for this concert alone to perform in memory of his brother. They used no guitars in the show. Instead, they had the idea to put Criss’ signature Charvel white guitar on a stand on the stage where he stood, and have it stand there the entire show. They also wrapped some roses and vine around it and up the neck, like on the Streets album art. It was a hard night. 

Paul himself knew he would see Criss again, someday, when all is said and done. But for now, in this moment, he was alive, and Criss wasn’t. He wasn’t here with them, as he should be. He should have survived. He had so much music to bring to the world. Paul felt like he could have done something, anything. Anyone would have such thoughts. But nothing could be done. 

Paul also found himself considering the future of the band. He knew it wouldn’t be the same without Criss, but this was not his call to make. He let the final decision on the future of Savatage be up to Jon, the real head of the band, even if he wasn’t lead singer anymore. Jon had spent some time considering, and he finally had let Paul know that he wanted to continue Savatage. If not for them, for Criss. It would be hard, but Savatage was Criss’ life, and they couldn’t bring it upon themselves to let it fade. 

Paul opened the CD case and began flipping through the booklet. He remembered these photoshoots. He remembered recording the songs. He remembered filming the music videos. He thought back on some memories of the past. He gave a small smile. He recalled the filming for the Gutter Ballet music video, and how it was absolutely freezing. No alcohol was allowed on set, but Paul could see Jon and Criss sneaking sips of something hidden in their coats throughout the entire night. He also recalled the Hall of the Mountain King video, and how he had walked into the bathroom of the set at about 5:00 am and saw Jon and John Edgar Allen from the music video in there, in full costume, doing cocaine in the bathroom. It was one of the weirdest sights he had seen, and he recalls stopping in his tracks, and yelling something close to, _“JON!!! Un-fricking believable!!!”_ or something similar. Paul gave a light laugh. They had had such good times making music. It hurt now that he knew things were changing, and not in a way they had intended. 

He thought about his mission. His original motive for coming to Earth in the first place. Would it even be possible without Criss? He couldn’t say. But Jon wanted to carry on, as must he. 

The future was uncertain, but Paul did know one thing was for sure. He would keep Criss’ memory alive in their music. In the albums, in the stories. What else could he do?

Paul spent the right of the night looking at the albums, the booklets, the photos, and pondering memories. For the first time in a while, all thoughts of the future left his mind. For this sleepless night, he could only see the ghosts of the past illuminated by the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooo boi this was a hard one. I tried to take this as respectfully as I could, and I probably could have done even better. I come back and edit it if something hits me.
> 
> The concert tribute did happen, as did the Gutter Ballet and Hall of the Mountain king video shenanigans. You can't make this stuff up, I swear. 
> 
> Things will lighten up again soon! Maybe we will actually get to TSO in this TSO themed fic, lol. 
> 
> ANYWAY thanks for reading! More to come~


	7. Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul has an idea for the band. Something new. Something bold.

_1995_

Paul walked down the busy New York street. The hot summer sun shone down, but despite this, he kept a leather coat on. He was on his way to the studio, to continue working on Savatage’s newest album, _Dead Winter Dead_. This would be the band’s 9th studio album, and Paul had high hopes for it. Their last album was titled _Handful or Rain_ and was basically a tribute to Criss Oliva. 

The album had done well commercially, and with fans as well, though not as well as past albums, but that was to be expected. They had a new singer, Zak Stevens, who fit in well, but now they had to find a new guitarist. Finally, they settled with Alex Skolnick, a guitarist with a wide variety of style, which fit Savatage well. Though, he left after the album was done, and Chris Caffery made a return to work on the new album. They also began working with an old friend of Paul's, named Al Pitrelli, who was a guitarist for Megadeth. They also had some drumming rotations, and Jeff Plate helped with the album and soon became a permanent member of the band. The album was made with heavy hearts, but they did the best they could. 

The album’s songs were all written by Jon and Paul, apart from Taunting Cobras and Nothing’s Going On, which had previous input from Criss. The main Criss tribute song of Alone You Breathe also features lyrics from Believe, one of the bands favorite songs. The band loved the idea of re-using the lyrics, as it sort of became Criss’ song in the end. The album also had taken a chance that Paul and Jon were excited about trying. Their song, Chance, was their first song to use vocal counterpoint, or layered vocal lines with different melodies and rhythms on top of each other, something seldom used by rock bands, if at all. It truly embraced the classical music influence that Paul and Jon had been experimenting with. 

Paul wanted to do more with it, but right now, he had an idea. He had an idea that was different from anything they have done before, and he was about to present it to Jon. He neared the studio doors and made his way inside. 

~

“You want to use WHAT?!”

Paul laughed at Jon’s response to his idea. Robert Kinkel, who was also in the room with them, gave a small smirk as well.

“I want us to create a full-length instrumental piece for the album, and have it based around Christmas carols.” Paul responded, amusement in his voice. Jon just stared at him, mouth open. “Specifically, God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen and Carol of the Balls.” 

“You must be joking!” Jon replied, falling back into his seat. “The Mountain King worked because it is already regarded as a hardcore song! The other instrumentals we have done were also short, and original! Just interludes! And you want to make a full-length song based on, on, on Christmas carols? We’d never hear the end of it, man! We are already holding on by a damn thread to our metal cred, this could break us!” he cried, annoyed.

“Or make us.” Bob cut in, quietly. Jon stared in disbelief. 

“The album isn’t even Christmas themed! I saw your notes for a story, and sure, I’m down for a concept album, but having a Christmas themed song on a non-holiday album? Really?” 

Paul removed his aviators and placed them on the table. Jon knew this meant he was about to get a lecture.

“Have you ever heard of the cellist Vedran Smailović, Jon?” Paul said, leaning back into his chair. Robert did the same, knowing where the conversation was going. 

“No, I don’t remember him from the study guide, will that be on the test?” Jon said, sarcasm in his voice. 

“Well, let me tell you,” Paul said, unfazed by Jon’s antics. “The Bosnian war that just took place, in the town of Sarajevo, a cellist lived there.”

“That’s what you wanted the concept story to be about, right?” Jon cut in. Paul nodded. 

“The cellist was born in Sarajevo; it was his home. When he was young, however, he left to become an accomplished musician. When he was now much older, he returned to the town at the height of the war. His home was in ruins. He was devastated. I think what most broke this man's heart most was that the destruction was not done by some outside invader or natural disaster—it was done by his own people. The town still undertook shelling almost every night.”

“Heartbroken, the man did not go to the bomb shelters once nightfall came. Instead, he went to the ruins of a town square fountain, got out his cello, and played music amongst the shelling. Mozart, Beethoven, and Christmas carols. Bombs exploded around him, yet he did not yield. He played to honor the people who died, the fallen town, his home. He played in hope of peace. But he didn’t play to one side, no, he played to both. He hoped to resolve the conflict with this timeless music. The old man said that it was his way of proving that despite all evidence to the contrary, the spirit of humanity was still alive in that place.” Paul finished, letting the tale sink in.

Jon sat silent a moment, pondering.

“That is pretty damn metal…” he said, finally. 

“Correct. The album’s story can be based around a person from each side of the war, with the cellist in the middle. This piece can tell his whole story without lyrics.”

“How do you plan on pulling that off?” Jon replied, curious.

“The song can start with a cello, playing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, but then, after a few bars, we kick it up. We have two contrasting melodies going on, tension between the guitars and the strings. Two parts of one song, music that normally would fit together, fighting for dominance. The bombastic music will drown out the cello, showing that war is taking over, but his melody will keep recurring throughout, showing that humanity is still there, somewhere. It could be the biggest song we have ever done.” He said, leaning forward, a smile on his face.

Jon thought a moment, then looked to Bob, who had already been informed of the idea. He smiled and nodded. Jon looked back to Paul, who raised an eyebrow. 

“Alright, boss. I’m down. What did you have in mind for a name?”

“How about…Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24?” Paul said. Jon gave a laugh.

“It’ll friggin stand out, that’s for sure. You really think there’s something good here?” he asked.

“I have never been surer of anything in my life.” Paul replied, with a wink. Jon stood up and clapped his hands together,

“Well, there’s a piano and guitar over there,” he said, motioning towards the instruments in the corner. “Why don’t you two play me what you have so far?”

Paul and Robert stood up and walked towards their instruments. Paul turned on the amp and smiled. 

“This is gonna be good…” he said, moving has arm down to play the opening notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TSO is so clooooose aH!
> 
> I also have idea how the meeting for the song went down, so again, I am guessing, lol. Forgive me Jon.
> 
> The story about the cellist is 100% true though!


	8. A Star To Follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Savatage meets for a meeting to discuss the sucess of Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24. Paul believes it is time to share his vision.

_1996_

The album had done well. It had made U.S, German, and Japanese charts. _Dead Winter Dead_ even saw a return of Jon Oliva on vocals for a few songs. The album sat well with fans, though the momentum of popularity was stagnating a bit. But it was in this time something odd happened.

The band began to be known by people outside of the metal world. Their song, Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24, was gaining massive popularity. Common radio stations that normally wouldn’t touch metal were playing the song. Hell, people were asking questions about that song more than any other aspect on the album. It astounded the band, but not in a bad way. They saw this as an opportunity to try something new. A meeting was called for the band shortly after. 

In the room was Jon Oliva, Paul O’Neill, Zak Stevens, Al Pitrelli, Chris Caffery, Johnny Lee Middleton, Jeff Plate, and Bob Kinkel. Paul had called the meeting, saying he had an idea, but he didn’t say what it was, and that he would disclose once everyone was there. 

~

“Would it still be Savatage if we did a full album with music like that?” Jeff asked. Everyone had arrived, and random discussion had broken out.

“We can make it Savatage.”

“Savatage is whatever we want it to be, right? We’ve done weird things before, an album based around that song could work.”

“It would be too much, wouldn’t it? Can you imagine the reviews? How many people would say that this isn’t Savatage, and drop us just like that?”

“The song was Christmas-themed for crying out loud, we can’t do a Christmas album!”

“Maybe Savatage can’t. But what if another band did?” Paul said, cutting through the chaos. Everyone went silent and stared at him.

“What do yah mean boss?” said Zak, saying what everyone else was thinking. Paul smiled. This was it. 

“I see a stage. A stage larger than anything we have been on before. With more lights, fire, lasers, and effects than any band has dared ever use. The group consists of rock musicians. Guitars, basses, drums, and powerful vocals. But there’s also a string section, led by a lead electric violinist. They have music so powerful, and a story so impactful. Visuals so strong that it entices anyone who sees, and music so engaging it reaches even the coldest of hearts. The stories told will be remembered. Stories of humanity. Of kindness, compassion, forgiveness. Of the human spirit. This group, they will belong to everyone. To the world. Kids, teens, and adults alike, all with different backgrounds and musical interests, they will all find solace on that stage. This group will cross boundaries. This group will reach farther than any musical group has gone before. It won’t be a concert. It will be an experience. An entire world will be created within the arena walls. It will be something astounding. A show which the likes of no one has ever seen. And it will be us.” Paul finished. Not a soul stirred as he was talking, all trying to visualize what he was describing.

“Paul, a show of that magnitude, how can that be possible?” Jon said, finally. 

“We are already halfway there. We have most of the musicians we need. We have the musical style. We have the pieces; we just need to put the puzzle together.”

“Would it be Christmas?” Rob added.

“It could be. It should be. What kind of story is more impactful than those of Christmas tales? We could make it work.”

"So…a new band?” Al asked.

“Yes. A side project of Savatage. The musicians of Savatage, but a new group. This way, we have no prior standards holding us down. We can do something totally new with no regrets.” Paul responded. Murmurs of agreement echoed around the room.

“You don’t think it will be going too far?” Johnny asked.

“This is Savatage we are talking about,” Jon said. “Going too far is kinda our thing.”

“So, do you have an idea for a story then? For the album?” Chris said. 

“Oh yes, I have had some ideas. Something simple, but impactful. Christmas is the time of hope, of renewal, and kindness. Take a message like that, mix it in with some good old-fashioned symphonic metal, and we have something never before done.”

“So, what would this group be called then?” Jon asked. Paul smiled, and laid his glasses on the table. Jon laughed to himself.

“You may remember a while back I was fortunate enough to have visited Russia. If anyone has ever seen Siberia, it is incredibly beautiful but incredibly harsh and unforgiving as well. The one thing that everyone who lives there has in common that runs across it in relative safety is the Trans-Siberian Railway. Life, too, can be incredibly beautiful but also incredibly harsh and unforgiving, and the one thing that we all have in common that runs across it in relative safety is music.” Paul paused.

“So, what does that have to do with the name?” Jon asked.

“I believe the perfect name for a group such as this, a group whose existence is to spread hope and kindness, whose music will offer troubled hearts sanctuary and peace…should be the Trans-Siberian Orchestra.”

_The Trans-Siberian Orchestra…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOO HERE WE GO ITS TSO TIME.
> 
> Also again I have no idea how they discussed the idea, and I am pretty sure it wasn't like this, but story's gotta story so,,,,,eh.


	9. Old City Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's 1999, and TSO is performing their very first live show.

_1999_

_“Our story does begin…”_

The gentle narration had finished, and the band began playing. They started with An Angel Came Down, and the crowd erupted into applause. The first two Trans-Siberian Orchestra albums had been a huge success, gaining airtime all over the country. People of all ages loved them, but it was not as apparent to them until their first live show.

Jon walked up to Paul, who was hanging in the wings of the stage, watching the band perform. 

“Damn Paul, you were spot on in your prediction.” He said, putting an arm on Paul’s shoulder. “Look out there,” he said as he motioned to the audience. Paul followed his gaze. “There are kids in metal t-shirts and grandmas in Christmas sweaters, all sitting next to each other. I had Chris watch people file in from his car, he said he couldn’t tell us what age group we appealed to most, because every age group showed up!” he was practically laughing, and Paul followed suit. “I need to learn to never doubt you!” Jon finished, taking a step back, turning his attention toward the band on the stage. The song had changed to their first instrumental song on the first album. A full length instrumental. The first of many. O Come All Ye Faithful/O Holy Night.

“Ah, I wouldn’t be able to have such faith if it weren’t for you!” Paul replied with a smile. “It was your music that made all of this possible in the first place, your ideas. Your writing.” The two men laughed. 

TSO had been a huge success in more ways than one. They had expanded their musical range and style and were praised for it. They had a much larger band now, with many new additions to the family. People loved TSO. But that didn’t mean that Savatage was ignored. They had created another epic album, The Wake of Magellan, and it too was a success. It was a solid Savatage album, and it had mixes of every aspect of music the band had become known for on it. Piano, counterpoint vocals, heavy metal songs, emotional songs, instrumentals, and something new, as they always loved to experiment. Though there were some melancholy vibes among Savatage, as they could see TSO rising in popularity, and Savatage stagnating. Jon had plans for one last Savatage album in the works, and then they would decide to focus on TSO full time.

The two men watched the stage, where First Snow had begun. They smiled as Chris Caffery began a little dance to the rhythm of the music. Caffery absolutely loved the TSO idea, and had a blast performing it, and Paul and Jon could tell. With his energy, they would need a bigger stage yet. 

“I’m gonna go check on the other side, make sure things are ok over there as well. You gonna stay here?” Jon asked.

“Yes, I’d like to stay here just a bit longer, if I’m not needed yet.” He said with a smile. Jon nodded and walked away, leaving Paul alone by the stage. A Mad Russian’s Christmas had begun, and Paul couldn’t help but laugh when Caffery began head banging more than he already had. 

_‘We need to get that boy a bigger stage’_ , he thought with a smile. 

The show was going wonderfully. The lights were just as he imagined it, changing color and styles with every beat of the music. The smoke machine was ever present, giving the arena a mysterious otherworldly vibe. The lights lit up brighter and Paul saw the full string section behind the bassist. A rock band with a full like string section. People had laughed at them, but it added so much depth. Paul felt himself be dragged back into the show as the song ended, and an eerie guitar line began. He knew what time it was. The narrator began describing Sarajevo. 

Paul was particularly proud of the story of the albums. The first album was about an angel coming to earth, searching for something that represents everything good that has been done the very first Christmas. He had some personal experiences that helped him form such a story. The second album was about a girl trying to find the true meaning of Christmas, and it also featured the same angel. Both stories had the impact he desired. The messages he was told to bring to Earth where getting out into the world. But something told him he wasn’t done yet. 

He listened to the narration continue. 

_“Now the angel heard God speak many times  
And he had always paid attention  
But this killing of one’s neighbor  
Was something the Lord had never mentioned_

_But as he neared the Earth  
Of a recent battleground  
From among the ruins  
He once more heard the sound_

_It was a single cello playing  
A forgotten Christmas song  
And even on that battlefield  
The song somehow belonged”_

Paul was happy with how the story came out. It was a heavy topic, yes, but it was conveyed in a way all could understand. The message is what was important. Both album’s stories had themes of “It is never too late”, and that is what was important. But Paul knew there was more to be done. He would know when it was time to return home, though at this point, he knew he would miss Earth greatly. He had friends and a family. He would see them all together again, someday, sure, but it would be so long from when it was time for him to take his leave. He didn’t want to leave, he realized. But he still needed to do what must be done. Something was still missing, and there was still more to do. The stage could always be bigger. He stood in the shadows and watched the concert roll by, his nerves easing away as he watched. 

~

After a while, an acoustic guitar was brought on stage. 

_“Now every light can be a star,  
just depends on where you are  
and the distance that your looking,  
past the places that you’ve been,   
and the dreams you’ve left behind,   
and the dreams you’ve left within” _

Paul’s favorite song began to be played. Old City Bar…he wrote this a while back, and many TSO fans consider it the best TSO song of all time. It told the story of a lost child, and a man who gives all he could to help her get home on Christmas Eve, expecting no reward back, other than the knowledge that she made it home safely. It was a song that encompassed all Paul stood for, all TSO stood for. It was the message he was sent to deliver, summarized into one song.

It is never too late to help someone. To know who needs help, you need only just ask. It is the true human experience to lend a helping hand to those in need, to give what you can, and to make a difference in someone’s life, no matter how small. Because it is those small kindnesses, those small acts, that truly matter. And the best part, Paul knew, was that anyone could do them. Doing one kind act starts a chain-reaction of kind acts that could span for eternity. This is what Paul wanted to convey with TSO, and it was working. It was working. 

He smiled as the song ended. He looked around the corner into the audience and looked at the people watching. He saw hundreds of eyes locked on the stage. This wouldn’t have surprised him at any other part of the show, as the smoke and lights were active and engaging, but in this song, there was just a spotlight on the singer. Hundreds of eyes shone bright, the lyrics of the gentle song resonating in their mind. Paul could have sworn he saw tears in some folk’s eyes. 

The song ended, and Paul felt a pang of emotion as the narrator continued once more. 

_“Its every gift that someone gives, expecting nothing back. Its every kindness that we do, each simple, little, act.”_

Paul had those words in his mind since the very start. He couldn’t help but feel a tear escape his eyes as the next song began.

_“Christmas time on a cold December morning, as is calm and the world is still asleep…”_

This was it. This was what he had been working towards. The vision was becoming a reality. He removed his aviators and continued watching the show, the stage lights reflecting off the lenses in his hand.

~

The show was now nearing its end, and the final song titled An Angel Returned began. Paul smiled, pure joy circling his mind. They had succeeded. The audience reaction was astounding. The future was still bright. He knew he had a good feeling about those Savatage boys all those years ago, he just knew it. 

The narration came close to its close. Paul knew it was time to get to work. There was much to do, he thought. There was so much they had to do. He smiled, put his glasses back on, and turned and walked towards the darkness behind the stage.

~

_“That night, for the first time since my childhood, I dreamt, a Christmas dream! Merry Christmas!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TSO TIME!
> 
> Finally we arrive at the TSO era! This fic just became a Savatage biography I swear, how did this happen. 
> 
> Not too many chapters left! We I can't believe I have written a fic spanning from 1986 to heckin 2001 and I'm not even done yet, I still have like 19 more years to go. 
> 
> You know this fic's original basis was that Paul is an ACTUAL angel bc, how can he not be lol, but looking back, on a story like this, it doesn't really matter much to the story, lol. At least not yet, I guess. Ah well! All's fun in fic and fanfic, so, whatever!


	10. Dreams Of Fireflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul takes in the beauty of a silent winters night and ponders TSO's past, as well as it's future.

_2010_

Five albums. Since TSO’s conception in 1996, they have made five albums, and a T.V movie. They had the Christmas trilogy, the Beethoven themed album, and their newest one, _Night Castle_. For this newest album, they had had the idea to re-record Believe, keeping that Savatage Criss Oliva memory alive in the minds of the public. Paul also had the idea to make Criss’ signature guitar the official TSO logo. Everyone loved it. TSO was selling out arenas, they were selling millions of records, and their shows were getting larger and larger. The stages they used had to be built bigger to accommodate the showmanship of the band, as well as the visual effects they used. They now not only use smoke and lights, but fire. Sparks. They use as much as they are legally allowed to use inside a building. They also have begun using interactive stages. Risers, platforms, rising drumkits, moving machines and visual effects. They were going far and fast and showed no sign of slowing down.

The TSO family was also expanding. More and more musicians were added to the roster, and the demand across America for tours had grown so much, they had done something that no other rock band has ever done. They split the band into two regional halves. They had an East and West side, each with their own respective musicians. 

Paul was already beginning to work on newer albums. He had the idea for an EP to fill time, which he was excited about. The company was even talking about getting a greatest hits album made. Things were going great.

Although, Paul was taking note of something that worried him a bit. He was aging. He was beginning to have some hearing trouble, among other things. It wasn’t bad yet, but he knew what it meant. He didn’t have all the time in the world. No human did. His goal, his mission, was nearly complete. He sighed and pulled his coat tighter. The sun had set, and it was dark out, but the falling snow was illuminated by the streetlights. 

A large winter storm had blown in, right as the tour was going on. Luckily, this was their first show, and it wasn’t for two days, so hopefully the weather would clear up by then. Paul stood outside on the balcony connected to his hotel room. Snow was falling all around him, and he could barley see the building across the street. He smiled, as he always loved the snow. He had his leather coat on, as well as his aviators, and he just stood there in the cold, taking in the sight. Snow really was something magical to him. It seemed to be alive, it danced, it thought, it had wisdom. If you focus hard enough you can sometimes see strange illusions in the snow.

Paul had gloves on, and a pen and paper in his hand. He was taking in the scene, staring at thee snow and sky, and he got an idea for a later album.

_“Stars and dandelions  
Like coins thrown into wells  
Are the things that we can wish upon  
And where our dreams do dwell_

_But the dark it is the darkness  
It's the stars that make it night  
For the night is God's cathedral  
Which one enters at twilight_

_And occasionally when needed  
Some stars will leave the evening skies  
And for a short while dwell amongst us  
In the dreams of fireflies”_

Paul put his pen in his pocket, re-reading what he had written. He smiled. Jon will like this, surely. 

Paul then sighed and leaned on the railing, snow falling into his hair. He thought back to how far he had come, how far Savatage had come, and now, how far TSO had come. He came to Earth on a mission, and he was so close to completing it. He did whatever he could to spread kindness, and he did whatever he could to help others spread kindness. It was working, he knew. TSO was gaining so much traction, and so many people were singing their songs. Paul smiled at the thought. This all started in some tiny venue in Florida, with him approaching four wannabe metal stars. And here they all were. Savatage had become bigger than he could have ever imagined. They were no longer making albums, but they kept gaining followers from the TSO fans. It helped that TSO took so much influence from Savatage. They used Criss’ guitar as a logo, they re-recorded several songs, and even performed some full Savatage songs as they were. Paul just wished Criss was here to see it. He would have loved TSO, Jon assured him. He wondered if Criss was watching them all from above. He knew he had to be, to make sure they didn’t do anything stupid with his band or music, perhaps. Paul gave a small laugh at the thought. 

The snow kept silently falling. The streets were empty due to the weather. The band was all downstairs, either in their own rooms or having drinks at the bar. Paul had promised to join them in a bit. But for now, he just wanted to watch the snow. He pulled an electronic device from his pocket and turned it on. He never thought such things were possible back in the day, yet here he was. He went to the music section and played Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24. It played softly, and the snow falling seemed to move with the music in the wind. He let it run, just staring into the snow. 

As he stared, he thought of TSO, and his dream turned reality. As he did this, he could swear he saw visions of TSO appear in the falling snow mixing with the street and traffic lights. Guitarists and bassists running and whipping their hair, a drummer pounding away on his kit, a keyboard player’s hands playing the main riff, a violinist jumping into the air…as he listened to the song each instrumentalist seemed to appear before him. The song’s climax had passed, and the final fading guitar rift began to play, and in a single moment, for maybe just a second, Paul could have sworn he saw the image of Criss playing along with the song. But the moment he blinked, and the song ended, the daydream had faded, and all that was before him was snow falling in random directions through the night. 

Paul shook his head and wiped the snow off his jacket. He knew he had to go downstairs to meet his friends, so he headed for the balcony door. He turned around one last time, staring into the night. He was never quite sure, but in that moment as he looked to the sky, he swore he saw a star shining through. He smiled and walked through the door, closing it behind him, leaving the snow falling outside to its devices.

~

The band talked happily in the bar of the hotel, staying warm with drinks and by sitting by the fireplace. They discussed past shows and old friends. Paul even was able to share some song ideas with Jon. Around midnight, they realized they should go to bed, as they have a tour to complete in the coming months. The group all dispersed into their own rooms, and the hotel bar shut down for the night, and the fireplace was extinguished.

The room was dark, with only the glow of the fading embers of the fireplace giving off light. A window stood next to the fireplace, and the faint glow of the embers illuminated the windowsill on the outside. No one had seen it, but there on the sill lay a single bright red rose, gradually getting covered with snow. There were no footprints leading to or from the window, but nonetheless, a figure was walking away, not leaving a trace. They vanished into the snowy night as they headed away from the building. Paul was right about one thing that night; a single star had been shining through in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYO!
> 
> This was a different chapter for me to write, as it was very visual, but I had fun with it! We are nearing our end my friends...
> 
> Also I made up the hotel thing I am not sure what actually went down before the tour, lol.


	11. Promises to Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy strikes TSO, and the band makes a decision for the future, while Chris Caffery contemplates the past.

_2017_

It had been a hard year. For everyone. Early on, the world received the news that TSO founder Paul O’Neill had died. The band was heartbroken. It hurt even more when only a few months later, TSO East bassist David Z was involved in a car accident while on tour with his other band, Adrenaline Mob. Two major losses in one year, and the future of TSO was uncertain.

Chris Caffery was walking through a light snowstorm, his heart heavy and light at the same time. The band had had countless meetings and discussions about what to do. What could they do? They had come so far, they had inspired so many, was this really where their story ends? They hadn’t known at the time.

But, discussion brewed, and ultimately, the band decided to do what had been done with Savatage. Keep going. Keep touring. Keep inspiring. Every person in the band knew it is what Paul would have wanted.

It would be hard, but they knew they had to carry on. For Paul, for TSO, for the fans, and for the music. For the stories. For hope.

And so, they did. They planned the 2017 tour, and it was a go. The hook for this year’s concert would be an old Savatage lyric. Still the orchestra plays…

Chris walked in silence. The city streets were empty, for now. It was the night before the first TSO show. Their first tour without Paul. Without David. Chris did his best to be strong, but he knew it would be difficult, especially in the show. 

They had a special visual this year. In honor of Paul, they had a backdrop that was a photo of a table that held Paul’s signature aviators, his gloves, some silver dollars, some sheet music, and a candle. The song would be Safest Way into Tomorrow. 

He felt himself tear up at the thought of it.

It would be heavy. But they had to carry on. As for David, the band had the idea to add a holographic lighting rig of David’s bass into the backdrop of some of the sets. He would be there as well, watching over them. They also had the idea to pass out Paul and David’s signature guitar picks to everyone in the signing line. 

Chris knew this tour would be hard, especially as Paul was his boss and long-time friend, and David was his partner in crime. He couldn’t help but smile as he thought about their on-stage antics together. Time and time again, David would begin dancing to a song, and Chris would attempt to out-do him, but Z’s energy was always way too high. They had many dance-offs in their time with TSO, and he always thought David won every time. Chris smiled at the thought. 

He continued walking as he pulled his coat tighter. He was on his way to the venue to check up on some things. He could have taken a cab, but none were out at the time, so he just thought to enjoy the winter’s air and walked. It wasn’t that far. 

As he walked, he passed a store front. As he passed it, he heard their faint radio station playing, echoing into the evening snow. Chris paused a moment to listen, as he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It was playing Promises to Keep, one of TSO’s best songs. He smiled as he took in the sound.

_“If our kindness_

_This day is just pretending_

_If we pretend long enough_

_Never giving up_

_It just might be who we are”_

At that moment, a cold wind blew through, causing him to shut his eyes to keep the snow out. It lasted but a moment, and then all was calm again. He opened his eyes and continued walking, listening to the snow crunch under his feet as he walked, the sounds of the radio fading as he turned a corner. As he continued, something caught his eye in the snow on the ground. A shiny coin, a silver dollar, lay there on the sidewalk. Chris picked it up, examining it. It was from 1967. Chris felt a laugh escape him as he turned the coin over in his hands. He looked around him, but no on was there. He put the coin in his pocket and carried on walking. 

As he walked, he found that some of his anxieties had eased. He felt hope for the coming tour, and even though it would be hard, he did know one thing.

Christmas does have it’s promises to keep, and TSO would make sure of that. They would keep the dream alive. Paul’s dream.

Chris hummed some other songs from that album as he walked, the snow falling gently. Quietly.

_“If you want to arrange it_

_This world, you can change it_

_If we could somehow_

_Make this Christmas thing last_

_By helping a neighbor_

_Or even a stranger_

_To know who needs help,_

_You need only just ask…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOO ok another sad one.
> 
> This one is shorter because the next one is so much longer.
> 
> The significance of the coin is that Paul kept a case of silver dollars, and would give them to fans. He would give them one with their birth year on it. 
> 
> This is also why TSO used the silver dollars in the show visual.


	12. Still the Orchestra Plays (Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three angels watch a Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert.

_2018_

“They really went all out this year, huh?”

“They always do, Criss!”

“I’m glad they kept going, the world needs their music.”

“Oh, I agree. I agree. So many people are out there who still need to hear it.”

“David, you are so right my friend.”

“Hey, wasn’t Paul going to meet us here? It’s this scaffolding, right? Not the one over there?”

“No, I am pretty sure it’s this one.”

Two men sat up high on some scaffolding above a packed arena. No one knew they were there. Even if they looked, they couldn’t see them. They sat side-by-side, watching the show below. TSO was already a bit into their first set. The men sat in silence for a moment, watching the show, when they heard the flap of wings.

“Boss! There you are!” David said, excited to see the man appear next to him. 

“You’re late dude, they started already!” Criss added, leaning over David. Paul smiled, removing his aviators. 

“Sorry guys, sorry! Muziphial and I were out. Time got away from me.” Paul replied.

“Is he gonna come see the show?”

“He wants to wait until the New York show, says he has never seen the city at Christmastime. I told him I’d show him around.” He said with a light laugh. The others did the same.

“Well, I hope he likes it! He never had to deal with city driving! Ugh I do not miss traffic.” Said David, lightly. The other two laughed. They watched the show continue. The next song to start was The Lost Christmas Eve. 

“This is one of my favorites.” Said Criss, eyes locked on the stage. “Love the guitar.”

“You would!” David replied, lightly punching him on the shoulder. “So, Paul, do you know the setlist?”

“I’m afraid not, I wanted to be surprised this year.” He answered. “Time to see the show from a real audience’s perspective.” The others nodded, feeling the same. The song came to an end, and the narration began.

“If I told you like, 15 years ago that we would have these giant video screens in our show, would you believe it?” David asked, thinking back on how far the band has come. Paul laughed. 

“Perhaps not, but then again, I knew that if there was some new performance tech out there, I wanted TSO to be the first to use it.” Paul replied. The others smiled. David could recall Paul conversing with various performance tech artists time and time again. He wanted to have the biggest, flashiest, and most awe-inspiring visuals most bands could only dream of having. 

“I’m just glad the story has stuck after all these years.” Criss said. “You guys wrote this story, when, in like, 1999 or something? And people are still loving it!” 

“That’s the magic of TSO!” David replied. “We keep outdoing ourselves every year, so each show feels like a new one, even if it’s the same story.”

“That was the idea, yes. Make sure there is always something for everybody.” Paul added.

“Lord, you succeeded. I’ve never seen such a diverse crowd before.” Criss said, turning behind him to look down at the audience. Paul sighed, a sad look now upon his face.

“I just wish you could have been on that stage in front of them, Criss.” He said, eyes locked on the stage in front of them. “Every time a show took place, I thought of you, you know.”

“Oh, don’t get sappy on me.” Criss said, leaning over David. “I left my mark, it seems, and you can bet your aviators I was down on that stage rocking out with you guys whenever I could. I have every guitar part from every song memorized, you know.” Paul smiled, the guilt fading away. He gave a small laugh.

“Well, that does not surprise me.” He said with a smile. “Even death couldn’t keep you from that damn guitar.”

“Right and right, boss man.” Criss said, crossing his arms, leaning back. “I was born with that guitar in my hands, and by God, am I gonna spend eternity with it. Nothing’s gonna ever change that.”

“You are the absolute stubbornest guitar player I have ever met, dude.” David said, laughing. Paul smiled along with them. 

“Damn right I am! Here, I’ll show you, stubborn guitar player my…” he trialed off, standing up on the scaffolding, guitar now in his hands. He was about to make for the stage when David grabbed the back of his shirt.

“Oh no you don’t, guitar man, we agreed to watch the show this year!” he said, dragging him back to his seat. Criss sat back with a huff, the guitar now vanished. 

“Fine. But I’m gonna go down there at the next show! Caffery would appreciate my input!”

“He is playing fine, he always has!” David said, laughing.

“Yeah, he’s damn near perfect, but there’s one thing you’re forgetting!”

“What is that then, guitar man?”

“He’s not me!”

Both men erupted into laughter, and Paul smiled and rolled his eyes, listening to their antics go on. 

“Criss, didn’t you once march on stage during a Savatage show when Chris was playing, take the guitar from his hands in the middle of the song, play the solo, then give it back and tell him ‘Don’t play it wrong again!’, all live, in front of an audience?” Paul asked, raising an eyebrow.

David’s eyes widened along with his smile.

“You didn’t!”

“Oh, you bet I did!” Criss replied, almost in tears from laughing. 

Paul rolled his eyes once more as the two men bickered back and forth. He turned his attention back to the stage. The song on was now Christmas Dreams. 

“Zak really is having a ball with this stuff.” Criss said, watching the singer on the stage.

“Oh, hell yeah, he is. Man, the costumes really got better over the years, huh?” David replied with. Paul gave a laugh.

“Yes, I suppose they have.”

“You all just wore suits in the early days!” Criss added.

“We had to build the showmanship up over time, and our budget wasn’t great then. We had what we had to work with.”

“Oh! Here comes Sarajevo!” Criss yelled, tapping David’s shoulder repeatedly. The three of them watched eagerly as the song began.

“Wait, why is everyone looking backwards?” Criss said, looking below him. The three of the turned around to see two large lifts in the back of the arena, one holding Caffery and one holding Roddy. In the middle was a large TSO for all to see.

“Well I’ll be damned.” David said, amazed. “I thought the sky lifts were the best we could do.” Paul couldn’t help but laugh in amusement. He had the idea for the lifts a while ago but be never thought to add the TSO logo. The three of them spent the rest of the song looking back and forth between the back of the arena and the stage, not sure where to keep their attention. The entire arena was alive, with the music, the lights, lasers, smoke, and lifts. 

“Fantastic!” David yelled. “Man, that song never gets old. You really did good with that one, boss.” Paul smiled. It had come out great, hadn’t it? The unsuspecting hit of Savatage. The song that started it all. 

The next song was Christmas Cannon rock, and man, a tear couldn’t help but escape Paul’s eye. The visuals were absolutely astounding and awe-inspiring. The circular lifts above the stage were fluctuating, there was a fantastic galaxy background, it was heavenly. This is what Paul had visualized when he wanted to create a whole new world inside the arena. This was truly an experience like no other. 

~

The next song was First Snow, the “party” song of the show. The three watched as the arena lit up with energy. The lasers were at their height, Joel Hoekstra had begun to walk amongst the audience, and the band on stage was rocking out. The audience was standing and clapping along.

“I always loved to dance to this song.” David said, bopping his head with the music. 

“Man, I loved your dancing with Chris, especially during Wish Liszt.” Criss replied.

“Oh, I think that one is in the second set!”

“Oh, Paul, you always loved this next one didn’t yah?” Criss said. The narration had begun, and Paul knew it meant that Promises to Keep would be next. Another one of his favorites from the first album.

“Oh yes, this is definitely one of the best songs we have ever done.” Paul said, tuning in to the narration.

_“No matter where you are in life, it never is…too late…”_

The three men smiled. That was it. That was the message TSO worked so hard to convey. It was truly never too late to change nay life’s ending. And they had succeeded in bringing that message to the world. 

Paul smiled wider as the song began. This had to be one of his most favorite stage sets, which also happen to be paired with one of his favorite songs he has ever written. The stage appeared cathedrallike and unearthly, as the circular scaffolding was rising and falling, moving with the song with starlit backgrounds. 

The song ended, and the narration for the final song began to play.

“Oh, this song is so fun!” Criss said, leaning forward. This Christmas Day began to play.

“You know, this was the first TSO song Jon and I ever wrote together. Not counting Sarajevo, this is the first TSO song written.” Paul said, thinking back to that first recording session, all those years ago.

“No kidding?” David said, smiling with amusement. 

“Leave it to you to start this whole thing with philosophical questions like ‘Tell me Christmas, are we wise, to believe in things we never see?’ and all.” Criss cut in. Paul smiled back. 

“Oh, would you have it any other way?”

“Lord, no.” Criss said with a laugh. 

“Dude Joel is having such a blast down there. He always has a smile on his face when he performs.” David said. “I always loved that about him.”

“What, did you not smile? You get bored playing that four-stringed wannabe guitar?” Criss said, struggling to hold in laughter as he hit David on the shoulder. 

“Oh, shut it, guitar man, you know what I mean!” he replied with a laugh, hitting him back. 

“Hey, cut it you two, the song is over, here’s the final narration…” Paul said, breaking up the two’s shenanigans. The three listened intensely as the final narration took place, and Brian Hicks, the narrator, made his way off the stage. 

“Damn, I love that show.” Criss said, leaning back once the final note of the narration music was played.

“Well the real fun is about to begin!” David said, rubbing his hands together. “The second half is always my favorite. Just a crazy rock concert, is what it is.”

“You always did let loose in this portion.” Paul added, not breaking his gaze from the stage. He was watching Chris introduce the singers. The three men took a break from talking and simply listened and watched the band have at it. Wish Liszt was first, and then A Mad Russian’s Christmas. Then, a rendition of Hark the Harold Angel Sing started.

“The sets are just _astounding_ this year, Paul.” Criss said. The set backdrop was now a purple-shaded stained-glass window, with only a spotlight on the signer. Simple, but impactful. Paul smiled. The next song was The Three Kings and I.

“Literally, you guys have the stage of a metal band, the effects of a Broadway show, rock, gospel, metal, classical, _and_ jazz music, and the backdrop of a friggin catholic church.” Criss said, wonder in his voice. “And you made it WORK!”

Paul and David laughed out loud at Criss’ statement.

“Yeah, that was the original point,” Paul said. “We wanted there to be something for everyone.”

“So, like, you had this whole project planned all along from the start, boss?” David said, looking at Paul. “Like, you knew it would happen this way?”

“Oh no, not at all.” Paul replied. “I knew how I wanted to complete the mission, but I had no idea who I would be working with, or how it would come out. That’s why I took the job of a music producer. So I could get into the music business and see all these bands up close and personal. So I could search for the sound I heard in my head. I never knew how it would happen, I just knew if I was patient enough, and looked hard enough, I would find the right people.” He finished, looking to Criss as he said the last statement. Criss met his gaze.

“So, did everything come out just as you imagined it would?” he said, quietly.

“Oh no, not at all.” Paul replied, bluntly. Criss and David stared at him, a slight sense of fear rising in the back of their minds. Paul smiled at them.

“It came out so much better.”

The three smiled, minds easing. They were snapped out of their conversation by loud piano. Wizards in Winter had begun.

“Brilliant idea with the album covers and art for the backdrop, Paul.”

“Oh yes, I think it came out very nicely.”

The three watched, mesmerized by the fire and lights, until David’s laughing broke their gaze.

“Geez, Chris will never settle down, will he? He runs across that stage like it’s a marathon.”

“He’s lucky they have a big enough stage for him to run like that on. All of em’ are.”

“I always knew he would need a bigger stage way back when,” Paul said, smiling wide as Chris began a hop-based dance near the end of the song. “That boy could have a stage the size of a football field and he would take advantage of every inch of it.” The others nodded in agreement. “You too, Z.” he said, eyeing the bassist.

“Whaaat, me?”

“You and Chris combined had enough energy to power all of the lasers for a week straight, I swear.” Criss burst into laughter. “I still don’t know how you managed to dance how you did.”

“Years of practice!” David said, adjusting his sleeve proudly. 

“Oh, here’s Tracers! I love this one.”

“Dude, any song with guitar you love.” David said.

“So sue me!”

“I believe the effects for this one came out nicely.” Paul said. The lasers were the holographic ones, and mixed with the risers hovering above the crowd, it created a very surreal scene. 

“Oh yeah, they did.” David said, turning his gaze to the stage lights. “I love those damn lasers.” Criss glared at him amusingly. “So much…”

The song neared its end, and the three took note of the silence in the arena and turned their gaze to the back. 

“Well I’ll be damned” David said, eyes wide.

“Now THAT is metal!!!’ Criss added, clapping. Paul just stared with amusement in his eyes. The large TSO logo in the back was being risen, but now it was completely on fire. As the next song of Carmina Burana began, the logo proceeded to rotate, shooting large flames out of the sides in beat with the music. 

“Above and beyond…every year. Always a new surprise in each show.” Paul said, shaking his head with a smile. 

“So, would you have believed me back then if I said TSO would have THIS in their show?” Criss asked with a laugh as he pointed to the flaming logo. The three men laughed as the song neared its end. 

“Oh, Caffery’s gonna talk more I think.” Criss said, leaning back.

“He’s gonna introduce the band, dude.” David replied. The three listened as Chris introduced each member, but an air of sadness rang out once Chris finished, and began talking quieter. 

“…and the gentleman that created TSO, our boss, Mr. Paul O’Neill, he would always say to us, every day, ‘Each person, in their lives, deserves to have one perfect moment…one perfect night’…and for us…that’s our job”

David and Criss turned their eyes towards Paul, but his gaze remained locked on the stage.

“He created all of this,” Chris said, motioning around the stage and the arena, “for all of you…” The audience cheered at this, as Chris paused. He looked up towards the ceiling, almost exactly where Paul was sitting. “This one’s for you boss!” he said, pointing upwards. Chris put the mic on the stand as Joel came out with an acoustic guitar, and the song Someday started. 

“This is really nice of them, huh Paul?” David said, but Paul didn’t answer. He wasn’t even looking at the stage anymore. He was staring at the audience around him. Thousands of phone lights shone bright, waving with the soft melody of the music. Like a galaxy surrounding them. It looked just like back home. Paul looked down at his aviators in his hand, and saw the stars reflected in them.

“You know, Paul…” Criss started, taking in the sight. “Each of those lights are shining for you.”

Paul felt a tear leave his eye. He had seen galaxies, universes, and billions of stars. But in this moment, none of them compared to the sight before him. 

The song eventually ended, and the audience erupted into applause. Paul smiled.

“You ok, boss?” David asked, gently. Paul nodded.

“I…yeah. I feel wonderful.” Were the only words he could find. They sat in silence for a moment as the next song began. 

“Hey, when do you think I will get a song dedicated to me?” Criss asked, looking to the stage, a cheeky smile on his face. The other two men erupted into laughter.

“Criss! Lord, YOUR GUITAR IS THE LOGO OF THE BAND!!!!” David yelled, almost in hysterics. Paul couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh yeah, I forgot.”

“You forgot, you FORGOT!?” David yelled; barley able to breathe. The two began playfully bickering back and forth, but Paul drowned them out, focusing on the stage. 

They decided to the Savatage’s Chance this year, it seems. Fitting, as Zak was singing for them. Paul couldn’t help but see the irony in the song. It was the first song to use what would become Savatage’s signature move, with counterpoint vocals. A song dedicated to trying something new. He watched in awe at the large clock animation that appeared behind the drums. Such a simple backdrop, yet so fitting. 

“Oh hey, this is off my tribute album!” Paul heard Criss say. 

“You have an entire album dedicated to you, you have the TSO logo, what more do you want?!” David yelled, laughing. Paul rolled his eyes, watching the show before him.

Paul had a particular love of the backdrop used halfway through the song, with the TSO logo on a banner above fire. It always came down to fire, with TSO. He remembered when Dustin Brayley nearly caught himself on fire during a show. It was a dangerous effect, but Lord, if it wasn’t impactful. He was snapped out of his thinking as the counterpoint section began. He loved this section so much, but as he listened, he laughed and thought of the original Savatage recording session. He had Zak re-record the “father can you hear me this is not how it was meant to be” section over and over again, as he was known to ask of his musicians, and he recalled Jon getting progressively more and more annoyed with the repetition as they went, even throwing his drink down and yelling “What does he hear? Why is his father there, WHAT DOES HE HEAR?!?!!” causing the entire studio to break into laughter. 

Criss and David were still bickering as the next song started, Madness of Men. A bold choice on TSO’s part. The Letter’s from the Labyrinth album was different than anything they had done before. It was very classical heavy, and very instrumental heavy. There were concerns of its success, but, as fate would have it, it sold very well. It sat well with fans, critics, everyone. It was once again, a huge success. Paul had wanted to build off it, as he was already working on their next album, but things don’t always work out the way you plan. But nonetheless, he knew TSO was in safe hands, and whatever they decide to record and release will be absolutely brilliant.

The last vocal song of the night had begun, snapping Paul out of his thoughts. Find Our Way home. One of Paul’s favorite TSO songs of all time. A fitting closer. Its power was even able to snap Criss and David out of their bickering, and the three watched the song in silence, taking in the music. Paul loved the background video of the train. He always loved trains, and it fit so well with TSO’s name-origin of the Trans-Siberian Railway. 

_“But on this evening, when the year is leaving, we all try to find our way home…”_

The song ended, and Paul knew the night was almost over once Requiem the Fifth began.

“I LOVE THIS ONE!!!” Paul jumped as Criss yelled at the top of his lungs. 

“Geez, dude!” David said, clutching his heart.

“Sorry, sorry! Just, just look at it though! The colored fire! The metal Beethoven! The epic guitar! IT’S PERFECT!” he yelled; arms extended. The other two smiled and shook their heads. Paul turned around during the vocal part, seeing the TSO logo once again aflame. “You got me into classical music, you know Paul.” Criss finished. Paul smiled.

“Well, I am honored that it affected you so deeply!”

“Damn right it did! YEAH!!!” he yelled with the audience, clapping and standing up on the scaffolding as the final notes of the requiem were played and all the guitarists were giving it their all. The song ended, and the reprise of Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24 began. 

The song that started it all. 

All three men were turning around, looking at the stage, the audience, the lifts, as once again, the arena came alive. Musicians were running in the audience, Chris was on a lift again, Joel was wailing on the guitar on stage, the lasers were firing in all colors and directions, the round lighting rigs were pointed at the audience, and fire was shooting from the stage and the TSO logo. Once they hit the final cadence, fireworks began going off, sparks were flying and rotating, and the audience was losing it. Paul laughed as he saw all the frontline musicians run through the sparks and hold their instruments in it. He doesn’t recall whose idea it was to do so, but they assured him it was safe, so he let them try it, and it became tradition ever since. 

Paul smiled wide as a young child was pulled on stage and given the signed guitar. He loved that part. Inspiring the youth with music, now that is the way to do things. To change a life. He sighed as Chris said the final farewell, and all musicians retreated backstage. The area lights lit up, and that was it. The show was over. 

“Damn! That was great! It really does get better every year, Paul, it really does.” Criss said, stretching. Paul nodded, putting his aviators back on.

“So, what’s your guys’ favorite TSO song, then?” Paul asked the two men next to him.

“Oh, I gotta say, Requiem is close. It’s just epic.” Criss said.

“I think I’d go with What is Christmas, as I always loved performing that one with the guys.” David said. This warranted a smile from Paul as he recalled the band’s antics on stage during that song. He recalled David and Chris even getting Rob Evan to laugh during his singing.

“What about you, Paul?” Criss said. 

“Oh, I don’t know if I can pick…” he said, smiling. He had written most of them after all.

“Well, what’s one that you really think will stand the test of time, then?” David asked.

“Well, Old City Bar then. That was one of the best things we have ever done.” The others nodded in agreement. It really was. 

“You got a dedicated band and crew, here, boss.” David added, looking at how fast the crew was tearing down the set, and aware the band was on their way to the signing line. 

“Say, didn’t Al like, fall off a riser and break his leg, but still continue playing till the end of the show?” Criss asked. Paul thought back and remembered that yeah, that did happen.

“Ohhh yes, he did do that. Stubborn is what he is…” Paul said with a laugh. 

“You seem to pick up a lot of stubborn guitarists…” David said quietly with a smile, earning him a light punch in the shoulder from Criss.

The three men took in the sight of the stage being torn down for a short while. 

“Well, I think I’m gonna head back early. Dawn wanted to hear about the show. We still on for jam session tomorrow?” Criss asked. 

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Paul said, standing up.

“Same, dude. Someone’s gotta show you how music works!” David said, standing as well. Criss lightly hit him on the shoulder once more. 

“Oh, shut it Z. We will settle this tomorrow!” Criss replied with a laugh, pointing at David. “Bye all!” he said. The others waved, they heard the flap of wings, and Criss was gone.

“I think I’m gonna go see how West side is doing. I think with time zones, they should still have some show left.” David said, looking at the watch on his wrist.

“Go have fun. Let me know how Al is doing!” Paul said. 

“Sure thing boss!” he said, and with the same sound of flapping wings, he was gone.

Paul stood alone on the scaffolding. He enjoyed watching the shows, especially with old friends. He was about to leave when the riser shook, and he found it was being lowered to the ground. Knowing he didn’t have anything to do later, he waited, and once the scaffolding was low enough, he hopped off and began walking around the arena. 

No one saw him, of course.

He walked up to the stage and went up the steps. He missed performing with them. But he was watching over them. He always will be. 

He walked around, just taking in the familiar sights. He didn’t see any musicians, however, as they had all run to the changing rooms so they could do the meet and greet. He spent the next few minutes just wandering. Just thinking.

~

Later that night, snow had begun to fall. The arena was nearly clean, and most of the musicians were back on the tour bus, waiting to take off to the next stop. It was late, and most had already clocked out for the night. Most of them, at least.

Chris Caffery stood outside the arena building, watching the snow fall. He was making sure the crew had gotten everything loaded, and now, they were all inside doing a final sweep, while the musicians were all on the bus. For this moment, he was alone. The snow was really starting to come down, now, but he didn’t mind. He was just staring at the sky, when for a moment, he could have sworn he saw a light way up high, too high to be a plane. It looked to him like a star. But before his eyes could properly adjust to see, a cold wind blew, blowing snow everywhere much harder. He blinked a few times, shielding his face and blocking out the cold. When the wind subsided, he opened his eyes, and something caught his eye. There, next to him, on the windowsill of the arena, was a bright red rose. It was almost completely covered in snow. Chris picked it up and dusted the snow off. It was real, and hardly had a blemish on it. 

He looked around, confused. There was no one in sight. He could have sworn he just looked at that wall, and there was nothing on the sill a moment ago. Could he have been wrong? It was late after all. Most fans had left hours ago, if one of them left it, the flower would most certainly have wilted by now. Chris stood still a moment, just listening to the sounds around him. At the moment, all he could hear was the silence of the falling snow. It was beginning to build on the sidewalk, and he saw that there were no footprints in sight, aside from his own. 

Chris shook his head. It was late, he just must be tired. He held the rose in his hands, and he watched the snow stick to it. He looked once more to the sky above him, and saw nothing but the falling snow, creating shapes and illusions before him. He tried to focus on the falling snow, and he wasn’t sure if it was the streetlights playing tricks on him or what, but he could have sworn he saw a figure take shape in the falling now.

A loud noise made him jump and turn around. He saw the back door to the arena was just closed, and the last few crew members were heading to the bus. Chris turned back before him, but any illusions he may have seen before had faded into the night. He quickly put the rose in his bag and walked back to the busses with the crew members.

~

Something woke him in the night, though he couldn’t say what. It was well past midnight now, and the entirety of the bus was asleep, and all lights were off. Chris looked out his window and saw the snow still falling, rushing past as they drive down the highway. It was completely quiet aside from the rumble of the bus tires on the road. 

Chris looked down to his side, where his backpack lay. He paused a moment, in thought, but then he quietly reached down and pulled it up to his lap. He unzipped the pocket where he had placed the rose he had found from before, but when he looked inside, it was nowhere to be seen. He shone a flashlight inside to make sure, but alas, there was nothing in the bag but his personal items. He hadn’t opened the bag since he got on the bus back at the arena. Chris gave a light laugh and smiled. He placed the bag back on the floor and he leaned his head against the seat. He stared into the night passing by and the snow rushing past his window. He smiled, and closed his eyes, echoes of a song entering his mind. 

_“He stared into the night no expectations_

_He watched the world go by without a sound_

_He saw the city lights arrive and fade away_

_While all that night_

_All that night_

_The snow came down…”_

~

_A few hours earlier…_

Paul found himself standing on the roof of the arena. He stood in the falling snow, watching the busses and trucks pull away, headed to their next destination. He had wanted to give them an assurance, knowledge that he was watching over them, that everything will be ok, and he had recalled a trick that Criss had taught him. He smiled as the last truck faded from his view. He stood alone on the roof, now, snow catching in his hair. 

They had come such a long way. They all had. They had endured victories and hardships, and there will be more of both to come, he knew, as such was life. But despite it all, he knew with all his heart that they had succeeded. That they will keep succeeding, and when all is said and done, they will have made something truly amazing. Truly unforgettable.

Paul smiled, the light of the city reflecting off his aviators. He knew they would be ok. He knew the music would live on. And he knew, with 100% certainty, that it truly was never too late.

Paul extended his wings, which lit up the area around him, and he took off, headed towards a single star in the night sky, shining through the cloud and snow.

~

As he flew, he recalled the words that started it all. He looked around him at the snow and the stars, and he remembered the greatest message TSO had ever taught.

_“It’s every gift that someone gives, expecting nothing back. It’s every kindness that we do…. each simple…little…act…”_

_Merry Christmas!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP here it is! Final chapter of this madness.
> 
> I don't know if you can tell, but the ONLY chapters I actually planned out were the very first and the very last, lol. I didn't want to drag this on too much longer, so I believe this is a fitting end!
> 
> I did NOT expect this to turn into a Savatage/TSO biography, but you know, life is weird like that. 
> 
> Anyway, I think this came out ok! I may fix some stuff every now and then if the mood hits, but for now, this was the story. 
> 
> I really enjoyed writing Criss and David, they would have gotten along so well, I swear.
> 
> Well, thanks for reading this fanfic! I hope ya'll have a great day!
> 
> And, even though it's May, Merry Christmas!


End file.
